


Rescue

by andveryginger, Keldae



Series: Deja New [12]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Double Agents, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Implied Prisoner Abuse, RPverse, Secret Relationship, Spies & Secret Agents, game-typical violence, non-canon backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 04:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18025067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andveryginger/pseuds/andveryginger, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keldae/pseuds/Keldae
Summary: Two months of research and preparation have led to this: The rescue of Xaja Taerich. But not everyone will make it out safely.





	Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> ...wherein the dorks prove that they work well outside the bedroom, too.
> 
> Had a lot of fun writing this one, piecing together the location from bits and pieces of Imperial Assault from Fantasy Flight Games. Really helped visualize the location and think about how our heroes might have worked their way through things.
> 
> Joint effort here, with both Ginger and Keldae pitching in.

_Classified Imperial Holding Facility_  
_Strabin Sector_  
_3638 BBY | 15 ATC_

The transport shuttle was perfectly nondescript, bearing only the markings and transponder codes of an Imperial prison transport. The pilot was waved into the landing bay by facility security, and an escort of half a dozen soldiers was sent to meet them. They'd been notified of a new import to the facility -- another failed effort by the Republic to infiltrate the Empire and locate the Jedi girl contained within. The one soldier who had managed to escape was still a burr that irritated the facility's management. If nothing else, the captain of the guards mused as he waited for the ramp to lower, the Republic idiots were nothing but persistent in trying to get their own back.

He blinked in shock when the sight greeting him within the transport was the barrels of several Republic-wielded blaster rifles. He turned to shout a warning to his troops, only to be grabbed with an invisible force and yanked into the shuttle. He heard blaster fire twice, then the too-familiar _shhhk_ of a vibrodagger slicing across the necks of his soldiers. The last thing he saw were angry hazel-green eyes of a hooded Jedi shadow and the green glow of her dual-bladed lightsaber.

* * *

 

He'd done far less hasty infiltrations and extractions before. This was almost sloppy, by his standards. But there wasn't time to linger and perfect the plan. Reanden had snuck into the facility two days ago, had seen how badly his daughter had been treated. Xaja was maybe days away from turning or dying, if he was being generous. Vi'garion had been accurate in his boasting about how terribly a broken Jedi could be twisted to the Dark Side.  

He couldn't let that happen. He was going to rescue his daughter or die trying.

Footsteps behind him alerted him to the approaching Republic strike team leader with Mairen. Reanden sheathed his dagger again as the grizzled Zabrak growled out orders. “You lot all saw Kota’s intel. He thinks Knight Taerich is dead, but Duathion swears she's alive. We're finding her either way and bringing her back home. Move out!”

Reanden, normally one to give his own directions, merely nodded. Fear made his chest tight in a way he hadn't felt in decades. “Listen to Cardinal’s instructions like they're mine,” he finally said, nodding to Mairen’s hooded and robed form. “I've got a lead as to the cell Knight Taerich is in. Let's go.”

Mairen nodded in return, noting the thin line of his lips, the downward turn at the corners. She could see, too, the worry in his eyes. Placing her hand on his forearm, she gave it a squeeze, then fell in behind him and the two Republic troopers who took point. Her dualsaber remained in her hand, though she did not ignite it.

They moved as a surprisingly quiet and efficient group, leapfrogging from cover to cover as they crossed the expanse of the landing bay. At each juncture, Mairen waved two fingers at the security cameras, knocking them slightly off their established viewing range. If anyone was paying close attention, it would be noticeable. She suspected they had a few minutes, however, before it was obvious. By then, if they’d all done their jobs, the camera feeds wouldn’t be a problem.

Kneeling in the short corridor that led from the hangar, she reached out into the Force, attempting to sense out the number of hostiles awaiting them. Between the information she and Reanden had been able to glean, combined with the information provided by Sergeant Kota, it was an elite posting, with a minimal number of exceedingly well-trained personnel. The intelligence suggested there were an estimated 15 personnel on premises: The commanding officer and his second-in-command; 2 non-commissioned officers; 8 troopers; one civilian technician who was on-call; and the two Sith VIPs -- Vi’garion and Xalia -- currently holding Xaja. Divided into three shifts, only half of the troopers should be on duty at any given time. The rest -- theoretically -- would be in barracks, sleeping or enjoying a bit of down time. They had been greeted by the commanding officer and two of the troopers, all three of which were now one with the Force.

_That leaves the exec; six troopers; a tech; and two very nasty Sith,_ she thought. Her senses confirmed the presence of four troopers and the technician in the barracks to her left. Looking to Reanden and the Zabrak team lead, she silently signalled her findings. The two nodded. Reanden then gestured to another trooper. In a split second, the two disappeared behind the subterfuge of stealth generators; she could sense them, moving across the room toward the barracks. If they succeeded, the door to the barracks would be jammed, and reinforcements would not be readily available for the current duty shift.

Reanden had always prided himself on his slicing abilities. Even with how badly his nerves were frayed, how clammy with sweat his gloved hands were, how tight the security was in this hell-hole, it wasn't difficult to override the locks for the barracks and seal the troops inside. The Republic soldier with him nodded and gave his shoulder a tap, signaling to move on. The security centre ahead would be more difficult to get past, and it couldn't really be just skipped: Additional slicing would be needed to disable the security measures along the next corridor.  More importantly -- to him, at least -- it couldn’t be skipped because it stood between the team and his daughter.

With the off-duty troopers temporarily corralled, the team moved silently into place before the entrance to the security room. It was Mairen this time who would take point, and she paused to draw a deep breath. For reasons unknown, she was beginning to sense Reanden -- his tension, his anxiety mingling with her own, despite the formidable blocks she knew were in place. Looking to him, she radiated a sense of peace, of purpose in his direction, hoping it would be enough to soothe the jagged edges she could feel. She then shifted her focus back to the task at hand.

Reaching once more into the Force, she folded it around her, fading from view as though wearing a stealth generator. She then crept silently into the room. One guard stood on station at the center console, six terminals surrounding him in a circular pattern. He held a datapad in his hand, facing the door, blaster in holster against his thigh. Glancing back, Mairen was glad to note the team was safely out of view, but it would be best, she thought, if she eliminated the threat before he could raise the alarm.

The consoles prevented an attack from behind, so she decided sideways was simply going to have to do. Could she distract him and simply knock him out? Pursing her lips, she pushed against his blocks, gently probing for a vulnerability. There were none; a simple mind trick would not work, and his loyalty was as much as guaranteed simply by his station here.

A spike of pain -- physical, emotional -- lanced through the Force around her and she struggled not to gasp. _Xaja_ , she thought. _We’re coming_.

The decision was made.

Stepping up onto the central dais, she nudged the Force against him, stealing his voice at the same time as she activated one half of her dualsaber. The energy blade pierced between his ribs with guided precision. She felt his essence -- surprised, confused, and then, with a nudge, at peace -- as it dissipated into the Force around them. Powering down her saber, she eased his body to the floor.

Mairen then scanned the room. Beyond bright lights and security terminals, there were no doors or other large objects. There would be no place to truly hide the body. She placed it on the opposite side of the terminals, so it would, at least, not be immediately visible.

That done, her gaze found the door, sensing Reanden and the team beyond it. Within a few seconds they emerged from the anteroom, taking various tactical positions around her and allowing the spy to take center stage.

Reanden slipped onto the dias beside Mairen, pausing just long enough to brush her arm with his and offer her a tight smile. The sudden soothing of his worry had been a welcome surprise, and he wondered if she'd been responsible for it. The fear still lingered, but it was… manageable. If he didn't look too closely at Mairen’s eyes to see the worry and residual pain there.

He quickly sliced into the terminals and started typing. Within a few minutes, the sensors in the next hallway had been disabled. Next up was the camera log room, and he already suspected he would lose what control he had if he saw the logs of what the Sith and their goons had done to his daughter. Hell, he already felt sick enough. But he would get through it. He would do anything to get his child out of here alive.

He grimly nodded, then flashed a quick hand signal at the team. The Zabrak nodded and moved to the next corridor leading to the camera log room. With the flick of a switch, Reanden disappeared from view again and crept down the hallway. With the sensors disabled, the lone guard on duty in the centre of the monitors wasn't aware of the Republic forces moving in, not until the old spy crept around behind him on silent feet and slid a vibrodagger into his lungs. The guard fell with a gurgle as Reanden guided him down to the floor, a hand over the man's mouth until he stopped breathing.

He stood up again as the rest of the team moved in. “Sith?” he silently mouthed at Mairen.

Drawing a deep breath, Mairen reached carefully into the Force, seeking out the two Sith. A chill washed over her, lips pursed. There was only the corridor ahead, then the interrogation room and an additional room behind. Kota had been unsure of the room’s purpose, but Reanden’s earlier reconnaissance revealed it to be a carbon freezing chamber. It was there she sensed the darkness that swirled around the master and his apprentice.

There was concern, frustration, and anxiety in her green-hazel eyes as she looked to Reanden. She signalled her response.

Shit. They were planning on a carbon freeze. Was Xaja that badly injured? Reanden’s jaw tightened angrily. There was no way in the nine hells that his daughter would go through carbonite freezing. At least the good news was that the Sith weren't with her right now.

As one of the soldiers added a feedback loop into the camera logs, Reanden disappeared back into stealth and hurried down the corridor. Was it his imagination, or was it getting colder as he moved? He was shivering, and didn't want to think about how badly his daughter had to be feeling it. He came out into the interrogation chamber and felt his stomach churn dangerously. Xaja was still somehow breathing, but the wounds she bore seemed to have multiplied in the day and a half since he'd infiltrated the facility. The Jedi slowly turned her head when she heard the soft footsteps of another stealthed soldier as he snuck around the room to the door leading to the carbonite chamber. With a hiss, the door slid shut. Reanden spared the door a glance -- they wouldn't have long before the Sith realized what was happening.

He hurried over to the interrogation table and all but slammed the control to release the petite captive. The persistent humming of the binds ceased, and Xaja slipped downward with a pained moan. Without thinking, Reanden quickly caught the tiny Jedi girl, and felt his heart twist when she flinched and weakly tried to squirm free. “Shh, little one,” he whispered, and felt a burst of relief and worry when Xaja stopped trying to fight. “You're being rescued. You're going to be okay. Dad's got you.”

Xaja slowly turned her head in her father's general direction and tried to crack one swollen eye open. She appeared to be trying to ask a question, but her hoarse voice wouldn't let her. “Shh,” Reanden softly murmured again as he carefully gathered the injured Jedi up in his arms, mindful of her numerous wounds -- and kriff, she shouldn't have been this light or easy to pick up. For a moment, he forgot about the observing strike team, or of the nearby Sith, or even Mairen. He was finally holding his baby girl for the first time since she'd been five months old. “I'm not letting them hurt you again, sweetheart.”

His heart, already twisted and aching from the turmoil of the last two months, shattered as Xaja instinctively rested her cheek against his shoulder and relaxed into his hold. Reanden didn't know if she could feel safety from him, or trusted his words, or was just too tired to protest anymore. “I've got you…” He gently shifted her in his arms, saw one thin hand reach up to his armoured jacket and cling (and tried to not wince when he saw her other hand, obviously broken at least once and not healing correctly. Oh, the healers were going to have a rough go with fixing these hurts.), and carefully pressed his forehead to hers. “You’re going to be okay, baby girl.”

Mairen hovered just to the left of the doorway, watching the scene unfold. Like Reanden, she had been struck first by nausea, the aroma of sweat, blood, and other biologicals lingering in the room; her stomach had taken an extra turn at the sight of Xaja. She felt her chest tighten, a knot rising rapidly in her throat as she watched the tenderness with which the man she loved drew his daughter to him and quieted her fears. Force, she hoped he would get the chance to see her again after this. They both deserved some peace and the chance to heal after all they had been through. And, maybe one day, to know each other as father and daughter.

The hissing of a lightsaber as it penetrated the door from the carbon chamber broke the silence of the room and jarred her back to the moment. Anger flared where affection and relief had flowed before. Yes, Vi’garion and Xalia -- the two despicable Sith responsible for the girl’s condition -- would find their way through soon. She ignited her own dualsaber. The blades cast an eerie glow over the dimly-lit room. “Duathion,” she said, not unkindly. Still, there was an edge to her voice as she added, “Get her out of here.”

Reanden jerked his head up at the sound of the lightsabers, instinctively tightening his grip on his daughter. He allowed himself a brief moment to curse his lack of attentiveness -- how the hell could he have forgotten where they were? Fury laced through him, made every muscle in his body tight with rage at the thought of the Sith and what they’d done to his precious daughter. For a second, all he wanted to do was bait the Sith into coming out so he could somehow find a way to kill them himself --

In his arms, Xaja made a small noise that too closely resembled a whimper. She’d forced her swollen eyes open, and Reanden felt his stomach drop into his boots when he saw the open terror in her stare. No Jedi should have ever looked so absolutely terrified… and especially not his daughter. There would be a time and a place to arrange for Vi’garion and Xalia’s deaths, but his focus needed to be elsewhere right now. Muttering a curse against Sith everywhere, the old spy adjusted his hold on his precious burden and started hurrying toward the door, as fast as a nearly-sixty-year-old-man could move while carrying a five-foot-tall person.

“Here, I can take her,” grunted out one of the soldiers -- this one taller and stronger, with the build of someone who probably carried around his squadmates for exercise anyway. But when he tried to reach for Xaja, she flinched away from him and tightened her weak grip on her father’s jacket. Apparently she was lucid enough to recognize that her father meant ‘safety’, something she evidently wasn’t willing to let go of for someone else.

“Don’t worry about that,” Reanden snapped as he stepped around the soldier and felt Xaja calm down minutely. “Cover us. You’d better be right behind us, Cardinal,” he added over his shoulder at Mairen, lingering only long enough to cast a worried look in her direction before he started hurrying as quickly as he could. Xaja wouldn’t be safe until she was on the shuttle back for Tython, and Reanden was determined to get her there by whatever means necessary.

“Just coming, love,” Mairen said, jaw set. Her gaze never left the door. A red haze hovered in her peripheral vision, grip on her saber constantly shifting as the knuckles flashed white. She stood watching for a long moment as the trail of durasteel slag lengthened, the Sith saber carving an exit. She wanted more than anything to see that justice was done, to ensure that the two paid for what they had done to Xaja, to Sorand, and even to Reanden. The pain, the grief; the memory of finding him, so despondent over his bottle of whiskey -- they were all so… _raw_ in her mind. _They_ should feel that, she thought, should feel the brutality and the chill and the fear.

_But that, harnessed by a Sith,_ an inner voice reminded her, _would give them the strength to move mountains -- they feed off of this, remember?_ She gave a growling sigh. She had spent the better part of a decade proving herself more controlled and more capable than the darkness surrounding her. Now was not the time to succumb and strike blindly against them. Their time would come.

She blinked and looked to the Zabrak, gesturing toward the door. “I’ll bring up the rear.”

The captain shook his head. “No chance, Cardinal,” he replied. “I leave you behind, and the old man is likely to have my hide.”

Her face was barely visible beneath the hood, but she still regarded him with an arched brow. “Unless you have a way to close the door behind us without the assistance of the locks, then I suggest you go first.”

He gave a chuckle. “Right.” With one last glance toward the sealed door, he charged back the way they had come, hesitating just through the passageway.

Powering down her saber, Mairen followed and stopped beside him, turning back to face the door. The Sith lacked only a few more inches before they broke free. It was definitely time to make their extraction. Reaching out in front of her, she wrapped the Force around the sliding door panel and tugged -- hard. The durasteel plate slammed against the doorframe, wedging it solidly in place. It would take them almost as long to burn through that one as it had the previous.

She looked to the captain with a wry grin. He bowed, gesturing to the empty hall before them with a sweeping gesture. “Your chariot awaits, Cardinal,” he said. Mairen could only shake her head and begin the race back to the shuttle.

Blaster fire just above her head, however, sent her ducking back around the corner of the security centre and waving the captain back. “Looks like our friends figured out how to slice their own locks,” she muttered. “Brilliant.”

“We’ve got about forty-five seconds before they have to take off.”

“Right.” Sighing, Mairen hooked her saber back onto her belt and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She dissipated some of the negativity into the Force, focussing once again on the moment. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Swallowing back the discomfort that rose along with it, she opened her eyes and swung around the corner, echoing the movement with her arms as she pushed at the Imperial troops with a wave of the Force. Her hands followed through, sweeping her saber back off her belt and igniting the blades, even as she signalled for the captain to head first into the hangar bay.

Two more blaster shots deflected off her blades, saber whirling, as the team commander rushed through. She followed, moving as quickly as she could, effectively walking backwards to cover their escape. One more shot, one more deflection, and this one appeared to hit the trooper who fired it.

It was as she turned to board the shuttle that she felt it -- the searing burn across her back -- followed by the acrid smell of burned flesh, mingled with that of smouldering textiles. Her nerves and muscles rebelled; she lost her grip on her saber and it clattered to the tiles, the blades deactivating as it landed. It was only by sheer reflex she turned, arms flinging the target back against the bulkheads with a burst of the Force. Peace settled on the anteroom as he collapsed, unconscious to the floor.

Her body protested movement -- sweeping her dualsaber from the deck, then each step that carried her up the ramp of the shuttle. The hydraulic controls of the ramp hissed and the thrusters hummed as her world wavered and went black.

* * *

 

The Imperials had made it out of the barracks just as Reanden’s pack of soldiers was running into the landing bay. Blaster fire rang out around him as he hauled ass on board the shuttle and made it to the cramped medical bunk. Fear clenched itself around his heart again as he set Xaja down and realized that she’d fallen unconscious during their escape (but now, under the lights of the shuttle, when he looked past the bruising and blood staining her… kriff, she looked like a miniature version of her mother. Were her eyes the same shade of green?). “Don’t you do this to me, baby girl,” he muttered as he listened to the sounds of battle outside, the thud of heavy armoured boots hurrying on board. His hand strayed to his blaster more than once until he recognized the Republic armour swarming the vessel, and he sighed in relief when the designated medic made it onboard and ran to her patient’s side.

The relief vanished as a sudden jolt to his heart made him turn, eyes wide and face pale. Something was _wrong_ , and Mairen’s face flickered to the front of his thoughts. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did know, know that something had gone badly with her.

He tore himself away from Xaja’s side, leaving her in the medic’s capable hands as he hurried back out, taking a quick headcount of the strike team’s members as he did. A few blaster injuries, not many looking potentially-lethal --

The sight of familiar green fabric would have been more welcome if the wearer of said fabric had not just collapsed into a heap on the deck. Reanden felt the blood drain from his face as he ran to Mairen’s side and dropped to his knees, unable to look away from the terrible blaster wound she bore, unable to give voice to the cry of grief locked in his chest. _They shot her in the kriffing back_ , some part of his mind realized, and fury sparked within him. But the rage wasn’t enough to drive out the fear, because kriffing hells his Mairen had been hurt and was she even still breathing?

His heart in his throat, Reanden sought out her neck and pressed two fingers under her jaw. There -- not a strong pulse, but it was there. _She’s still alive. Force, she’s still alive_ \--

“-- ion? Duathion!” He looked up when he heard his codename being barked out by the captain. “Focus, dammit! Help me get her to the medic.” The Zabrak growled out a few more interesting curses, the likes of which Reanden had heard countless times from military personnel on both sides of the galactic fence, as he helped the old spy carefully lift Mairen up. “I’m never working with retirees again, especially not lovesick ones…” Kriff, he’d heard Mairen’s addressing him while they were fleeing with Xaja. But right now, there were bigger things to worry about.

“I am _not_ a kriffing retiree, Captain,” Reanden finally snarled as he started moving toward the medic’s claimed bunks. He absently heard the corporal in charge swear long and loudly around working on Xaja, but wasn’t sure he was brave enough to look back and see the extent of his daughter’s wounds.

“Karkin’ lovebirds,” the captain muttered when Reanden didn’t deny being lovesick. “Cardinal’s a tough lady an’ your girl’s a Jedi herself. Leave Corporal Kican to her job, Duathion.”

“Like hell,” Reanden growled. He winced at the wound in Mairen’s back, and shifted his hand down to find hers. He could do emergency treatments, but he couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d worked on a blaster wound like this. Where did Kican have the kolto stored -- ?

“Outta my medbay, agent!” Kican was one of the most intimidating medics Reanden had ever met, all dark green skin and fierce tattoos and, right now, a glare. “I got my people, I don’t need you takin’ up space in here!” Quite before he’d caught up to it, Reanden found himself unceremoniously booted from the medical bunks as Kican’s people descended on their two Jedi patients. He could hear murmurings, regarding “Jedi healers”; “too deep-cover to extract”; and “nearest medical centre.” He was barely aware as the captain rushed to the bridge ordering the pilot to plot a course to the nearest friendly medical facility.

Feeling far older than even his (for a spy) advanced age, Reanden sat heavily in a seat and dropped his head into his hands. Xaja was safe now, but at what cost?


End file.
